


That digital faith

by Anonymous



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Bipolar Disorder, Gen, Kind of a Rom-Com, M/M, Melodrama, Mental Health Issues, Minecraft, Neurodiversity, POV Alternating, Sex Work, kid crushes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tim and Jason (age 10) are, apparently, minecraft girlfriends -- which is Dick's stupid joke.  But it's not... wildly inaccurate.  Or whatever -- Tim tries not to think about it.  Just like he tries not to think of other uncomfortable topics, such as: the way Dick is failing to hide that they're almost always tight on money; how Tim's school sucks more than anything,seriously,no,really,and; how Bruce and Dick keep flirting with each other but don't seem to realize it.  Really, if anyone's minecraft girlfriends here, it's them -- which is Jason's stupid joke.  But it's kind of funny.  Hey, Tim laughed.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48
Collections: Anonymous





	That digital faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** disclaimer: this creator has no problem with exploring problematic, objectionable, and obscene content in fiction and ships, and has done so in the past in fanworks (and will likely do so in the future, as well). if interacting with an individual who writes the aforementioned will inspire vehement response, then here is your warning. if my nsfw and/or obscene works discredit my other works in your eyes, please feel free to disengage as needed. **
> 
> here's a fic I started back in january. I'm tired of sitting on the first chapter, so here you go.
> 
> warnings: I have never played minecraft before in my life. also, here be shifting povs, brudick, jaytim, and an amalgamation of my loose, pre-new 52 understandings of comics canon with a heavy influence from older dc and batman animation properties from the pre-2010s. that really just means I write bruce nicer than most, but also that I'm not a real comics fan and absolutely am just throwing a dart at a board of generally correct dc characterization and hoping I hit somewhere in the approximate close vicinity. play in this space with me or not, your choice.

Contrary to what Dick said, Jason was not his 'minecraft girlfriend'.

"That's cuz you're mine," Jason said smugly as they did indeed play minecraft, webcams on. "My minecraft girlfriend, I mean."

Tim huffed in annoyance and silently but intentionally emptied his entire inventory into the ocean. This was a long ploy -- Jason could be convinced to lend Tim some items on loan in a half hour once he'd forgotten he'd said something to peeve Tim off, and then Tim would loudly and dramatically drop _those_ into the ocean. Bye bye Jason's diamond tools. "So we're officially girlfriends now, huh?” Tim was trying to play it cool and act normal. This was something he’d normally say, just to agitate Jason one way or another as payback. “If you’re so sure, then I dare you to define the relationship."

Jason spluttered a little and Tim noted from the small cam feed display that he was beginning to blush. “Oh, ha ha, Timmy. Shut up and come help me farm for -- "

"I don't have any tools," Tim said as innocently as he could manage -- which at the moment was closer to a flat monotone than anything. He was rushing up the timeline of his dastardly plan, mostly due to feeling a little flustered at how Jason was reacting to his barb. The blush and attempts at misdirection were unexpected, and they made Tim wonder if Jason getting embarrassed meant it was actually official that they were dating, and Tim had missed the signs. They _had_ met through minecraft, and they _were_ quite close, so maybe they really _were_ minecraft girlfriends -- or boyfriends. Or -- ugh, whatever, this was Dick's fault, with his dumb joke. Maybe they really were dating through minecraft, was the point.

Tim wouldn’t know how to deal with that no longer just being a joke. Should he say something? Should he act differently? Tim wasn’t sure what dating someone actually meant. Luckily, Jason started to act normally again, squinting suspiciously into the webcam. He asked, "Why don't you have any tools? We picked up a save state in the middle of a build. Did you trash your junk in the ocean again? Tim, I swear to god."

For someone who wore their mom's old rosary, Jason sure swore on god's name a lot. But this was normal. Tim could forget about the concern that he and Jason had changed some fundamental part of how they interacted and he’d missed it. Instead, it was Tim's turn to begin to flush, caught completely red-handed. He shouldn’t have rushed into this part of the plan. "Did not. Totally did not, what kind of baseless -- "

Tim's elaborate lie in the making (or, well, honestly, he was thinking of just ambushing Jason in-game and killing him instead -- then the session would turn into a sort of game of keep away, as Tim tried to avoid Jason murdering him back in revenge and also to take his stuff back) was cut short as he heard the key in the front door. Tim looked to the door, then looked at the time -- it was really early for Dick to be coming home from work. Like, the 'Tim was still up and hadn't done his homework yet' kind of early. He wasn't actually going to do his homework though, no matter the time.

"Tim?"

Tim blinked and looked to the display window, only to find Jason watching him with a questioning gaze. Tim pushed the chair away from the table, which also served as a desk and a place to eat dinner and a nifty flat surface to stack the mail. "Ummmm I think my brother's home," Tim explained.

Jason propped up one cheek on a fist, elbow on the edge of his desk, his eyebrows raising. "Dick? Doesn't he have a shift around this time, usually?"

Tim had barely managed a shrug, when the door creaked open just enough for Dick to slip in and then quickly shut the door behind him. Tim watched apprehensively as Dick locked and deadbolted it.

"Tim," Dick sighed out, kicking off his shoes. "I keep telling you to do up both the locks."

Tim's face screwed up a little, knowing that if Dick was 1) home early, and 2) already fussing about lock safety, then something must have happened at work. He didn't want to let Dick talk shop and have Jason overhear -- not that Jason was, like, new to that kind of stuff. Both background-wise and from being a constant presence in Tim's life lately. Still.

"I gotta go, Jason," Tim said quietly. Jason nodded in understanding, and Tim just exited out of all his browsers and shut the laptop closed. To Dick, while sliding out of the chair and going to help Dick untangle himself from his coat and scarf and throw them in the tiny closet, he asked, "Bad clients today?"

Dick worked at a burlesque club. Or that was what he always called it, when explaining things to Tim. Probably as a censor, Dick thinking he needed to protect his fragile ten year old brother from things like the fact that Dick stripped and danced nearly naked on a stage to put food on the table. But Tim wasn't stupid, and he went to public school -- where people made dumb jokes that Tim had to roll up his sleeves and get into fights over. He also constantly overheard the gossipy ladies down the hall make innuendos about Dick's job. 

Just... Tim wasn't stupid. Plus, Dick only had the finicky rules and protocols about keeping safe at home because he sometimes had to do extra stuff with clients at the club, and that meant some people thought they could follow Dick home or figure out where he lived to ask for more later. And Tim had heard enough from the handful of times someone _had_ shown up around the apartment complex to figure things out, especially back when they lived in a worse part of the city before Tim had changed schools. That extra stuff Dick did -- sure, Tim didn't have all the details, but he knew that it was physical stuff. Stuff Dick wouldn't even dare to censor and clean up and allude to. Instead, Dick just left it as a big vague thing they both knew he did to make sure the bills were paid and the lights, heat, and water were all on.

Dick sighed out and shrugged. "Sort of. A bad client, and then someone swooped in to save me and now I owe her, I guess. Didn't need her help, but..." Dick sighed again, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Tim noticed he was getting glitter from his makeup into his curls, but stayed quiet.

"It was a whole big to-do," Dick admitted, padding through the small living room while shaking his head. "Top management figured I was kind of a liability for the mood of the night and should cut my losses and come home."

Tim, trailing behind Dick, didn't wholly understand that. "Wait, so somebody else was a jerk, and you got sent home?" It was just like school. Somebody said something rude, like they were looking to get their block knocked off, and then when Tim did just that (because you didn't insult someone's family without expecting a swing coming your way, right?) he was the one who got in trouble -- _always._ And then he'd get sent places like the principal's office. Or the in-school suspension room. Or -- one time that had Dick absolutely infuriated and up at the school yelling at people -- the 'time out room'. Which was, like. A special ed thing.

Tim didn't actually like thinking about it very much -- that special ed kids had to go somewhere different sometimes if they were considered 'repeat offenders' like Tim was. It was a sucky place, this little padded room with dim lights; an offshoot of the auxiliary gym, right behind the old girls' bathroom that no one used nowadays except to rinse off paint brushes and watercolor tins for art class.

So, yeah. Tim scrunched up his face and pursued the topic, despite Dick's strategic silence. "Seriously, someone else made trouble but you get punished? Unfair."

Dick waved a vague hand, slipping on his house shoes before collapsing face first onto the couch. "No, no, it's like. I was bringing down the mood." Dick's words were muffled by the couch cushions. He turned his head to speak more clearly. "So, what happened is this really rude guy got thrown out and the lady who defended my honor -- without me needing her to do that -- was being handsy and it was just, like. Time to go for the night. I agreed with 'em, honestly." 

Tim didn't know what to do with that information. He hovered nervously at the arm of the couch, watching Dick for signs of storm clouds. Nothing seemed too out of place, though. Sure, Dick sighed for a third time -- but things often came in sets of three, right? Good or bad, they came in sets of three. Tim had read that somewhere, and maybe it was true, because Dick looked across the room and brightened at the sight of Tim's computer on the table.

"Oh?" He said cheerfully, "Was it date night? How's Jay?"

"Jason's fine," Tim said, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch, gathering his knees up to his chest and staring at Dick's feet dangling over the armrest. "He's catching on to the ocean ploy, though."

"Stop using it every other week then, and try something new," Dick advised wisely, though his voice was already fading a bit, tone drowsy. "He's not stupid, you know."

That was one of the reasons why Tim liked him so much. "Yeah, he's not."

* * *

Dick wasn't just working at the strip club. Obviously not. He had a day job as a virtual assistant at some fancy mid-sized business, and it was a flexible enough gig that Dick could move things around if Tim needed to be picked up, if errands needed to be run, or if child behavioral therapy actually opened up and they had to attend a session. The virtual assistant thing paid... pennies, really, but every little bit helped. And it was mostly mind-numbing data entry work, the occasional formatting of innocuous department announcements and event flyers, and sometimes compiling several employees' notices into one easily referenced work calendar. It wasn't hard or time-consuming, so was well worth the trade-off.

He only had to come in person now and then for check-ins and quarterly performance interviews, which Dick had come to see as the company’s way of checking if he was a criminal or crazy or a risk for leaking information or just in general potentially about to do something that might land him on the local news and therefore give the company bad press. And technically speaking, Dick _was_ crazy, but he was pretty good at hiding it.

“You really shouldn’t call yourself crazy,” Wally said, a sour look on his face as he ripped the crusts off his sandwich. They were at their favorite small diner for lunch, which had killer cheap hot plates. “You’re _not._ God, seriously, that is so reductive. You have a condition. An illness, which you take medication for and practice mental exercises to mediate it.”

Dick snorted -- because alright, sure. Yeah, once upon a time he did. He'd really tried his best to do that.

There was an awkward pause, and Wally squinted warily at him. “Dude, you _are,_ aren’t you? You can’t just... out-stubborn being bipolar.”

Dick popped several chips in his mouth and shrugged, eyes flitting around to take in the other patrons at the diner. There was a mother and daughter pair, it looked like, and a lone guy at the far table in the back by the bathrooms. “Yeah, I know. I do the mental exercises and all that stuff. I’m just... running low on medication at the moment. I'm trying to take them as much as I can.” 

Which was not how medicine worked -- god, Dick’s inner monologue sounded like Wally himself. This was unfortunate but not unexpected, considering how much Wally harped on him about this stuff. Still, with no other options, Dick had spaced out his pills to make them last -- before running out completely two and a half months ago. He’d yet to get a refill -- okay, well, he didn't _have_ a refill to get -- but you know. Life. It happened.

Wally squinted even more, eyes barely visible between his red eyelashes. “Okay, that’s not -- ”

“ -- how medicine works, yes, I know,” Dick said, because _yeah, Wally._ The guy by the bathroom, Dick decided after watching him turn his head as one of the waitresses exited the washroom and returned behind the counter, maybe was a perv. Dick studied his clothing choices -- wide brimmed hat, long coat -- yeah, some kind of perv, possibly.

Wally sighed, drawing Dick's attention once more as he shoved his bread crusts into his mouth, chewing thoroughly before saying, “I am going to tell on you to Donna. And then we’re all gonna go to the pharmacy and get you a pill refill.”

Dick glared and pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. He'd box up his half a burger and take it home for Tim. “Shouldn’t there be an ultimatum? That I’d better let you give me a handout or else you’ll tell Donna?”

Wally grinned, plucking up a sweet potato fry and waving it emphatically at Dick. “Nope. Your bestie would kill me if she found out I was keeping secrets about you. So you get punished for making bad decisions. And it's not a handout, geez, it's called helping your friend. You'd do the same for me.”

Dick shifted awkwardly in his seat. Truthfully, his doctor had told him they needed to look into changing his prescription, that the current cocktail wasn’t effective enough, hence the lack of refills. And the last time Dick had been in the doctor's for that had been... a while ago. Like, so long ago that Dick couldn’t quite remember when it had been, between stretching his pills out far past when he should have finished them and then not getting back to the doctor for nonessential things. So not only did he not want his friends using their own sparse money to cover him in general, but it was also partially impossible for them to do anything. Dick was cornered into a situation where he was supposed to be attempting expensive experimentation in order to figure out what meds worked the way they were supposed to. And that would be _after_ he found a new doctor to start from scratch with.

Dick didn't want to reveal all of their helplessness in this situation. He didn't want his friends feeling torn up about this thing none of them could really help or fix. “I’ll get them myself,” Dick tried to misdirect, voice quiet. “You can tell Donna and I will let her fuss at me, as I totally deserve, but I can afford my own junk, okay?”

Wally grimaced, throwing down his fry. “Dick, no. Do I have to tattle on you to Kory and Vic too? Is that the kind of afternoon you’re getting ready to have?”

Dick groaned softly to himself, knowing that he was going to have to come clean to get out of this. He sank a little in his seat, staring down at the plates on the table instead of the way Wally's expression was going to inevitably fall. “Okay, look, honestly? I -- can’t, Walls. I don’t -- my prescription isn’t active anymore.”

Wally was such a usual flurry of micro-movements that even without looking directly at him it was easy to tell he'd frozen in shock. When Dick snuck a peek, he could see how Wally's eyes were unfocused, hazy, with confusion. “Wha -- it ran out?”

Dick shrugged unhelpfully, keeping a cautious glance on Wally. “My doctor wanted to change my meds and -- that was around the time Tim got off the waitlist for behavioral, so, you know. I had to split my focus and -- look, one thing led to another. You know how it goes.”

Snorting, Wally shot him with double finger guns. "Hell yeah, I get it. Stuff stacks up, attention gets divested, and then the anxiety sets in. I super get it; you know I do. Still..." Wally started to nibble on his lip, expression taking a turn for the tentative. “Maybe we can still help covering the costs of you getting reevaluated...?”

Dick shrugged again, more despondently. “It’s gonna take way more time and money and referrals than any of us can afford. I have to get back in the system, find a new primary care doctor -- physician, whatever -- the works.”

Wally was quiet for a moment, tapping a pointer finger against the diner table. “Was there something that happened? I mean, to get to the point of needing a new PCP?”

Dick shrugged. Possible Perv in the back was finally ordering, and he seemed to be avoiding looking straight at the waitress as she jotted down notes. Maybe the guy was just awkward. Who was Dick to judge? “My last doctor moved and changed practices because, uh, Gotham sucks, duh. And that kind of put a pin in stuff, after she'd told me I had to get reevaluated and then I was a delinquent patient about follow-up."

Wally made a sound in the back of his throat, one of pity and of anger, and Dick pointed an aggressive finger at him. "No, none of that. I should have told you guys, sure, but I didn't want you worrying -- or trying to pool together resources for something none of us can actually afford."

"What about -- "

"And I _especially,_ " Dick cut in stubbornly, "Didn't want Roy breaking into his dwindling trust fund to try and fix this. He has Lian, you guys all already have debts of your own, this is a way more complicated issue than just refilling a prescription and paying the bill... no."

Wally sullenly poked at his fries. "Dick..." 

Dick sighed and grabbed a handful of chips to sprinkle onto Wally's plate in apology. "Hey. I actually do have an account set aside for saving up to pay for my own medical stuff. In the meantime, I’d much rather mess around with medical nonsense to try and make sure Tim’s okay.” 

Wally accepted a chip and nibbled on it, a nonverbal signaling of, _oh fine, I'll stop pushing for now._ “How is he doing, by the way?” Wally asked, really seeming to mean it.

Dick paused, expression faltering. That was the question, huh? “Hm, well. His school’s alright. They have the most robust special ed of the places in our zip code, but sometimes I wonder if that just means he’s getting lost in the system, you know?"

Wally hummed, crunching on another chip, looking intrigued. "What exactly do you mean?"

Dick considered his next words carefully. "I mean... there’s a lot of kids. And some of them are more attention-demanding than Tim. I get concerned. But... I dunno, at least there’s a program. At least some of the faculty is trying, I guess, rather than just throwing him in a slower-paced class and giving him different work while they sit him in a corner.” 

Dick had been considered a problem child too, growing up, and that’d been his experience. Tim’s too, at the last school before Dick had gathered enough money to uproot them from the especially shittier part of the city. Now they were in a less awful but still unpleasant part of Gotham -- less crime at least -- so Tim’s school was better. Nowhere near the best, which was what Dick felt he deserved, but markedly better.

And maybe separating out all the kids on the spectrum and with development disorders was a problem in its own way, but at least Tim wasn’t being ignored completely and assumed too dumb to function or to be worth the effort. At least he wasn't being given coloring worksheets or the unit tests with the assumption that he’d just write his name and poorly answer a question or two, and then passing him anyway to bump test scores. At least at Tim's current school he could attend classes that fit his skill level, even if it was only for half of the class time before leaving for the special ed hallway with the classwork and homework to be completed and turned in later. Tim could do the work, especially in math and science, if you just gave it to him and let him turn it over in his head in peace and quiet. It was just, usually schools didn’t offer too much of that -- peace and quiet, that was.

"If he's enjoying school more, then that's all that matters, I'd say," Wally pointed out, reaching for a napkin and pushing Dick's plate towards him once more. "Also, you do still need to take care of yourself, Grayson. Eat your burger."

Dick rolled his eyes at his friend, but he obediently picked at his food some more. "Fine. Tell me about _your_ awful life now, West. Cheer me up by comparison," he shot back in good nature, trying not to get lost in his own thoughts and needing the distraction.

"Har-dee-har," Wally said with an eye roll. "Alright, fine. First off: my heavily pregnant aunt is -- you guessed it -- still heavily pregnant..."

Dick listened attentively as Wally went on. It actually _was_ good to hear about other people's life. It helped Dick get out of his head when he started feeling a little too down on himself. Because sure, he needed to make sure _he_ was okay so that both he and Tim could be okay, but there were a whole host of complications that made prioritizing other things more important. And that was just the way it was. The increase in rent and in miscellaneous school fees -- because who said public school was free? -- were just not something Dick could step around and self-care his way out of. 

Lack of money was, like always, a big reason behind Dick’s issues of not taking better care of himself. His friends got upset when he put himself on the back burner, but he had to do what he had to do. They all did. And like Roy with Lian, Dick had Tim. Dick had gotten to keep Tim as legally as possible in the dumpster fire that was Gotham's foster care, one orphan aged up enough to take care of another. That meant, by hell or high water, Dick was going to make sure that Tim was actually taken care of. So yeah, scrounging up enough money to get by was difficult. But it was worth it. For so many reasons, it was beyond worth it.


End file.
